There are days that I feel like a circus freak. No, I'm not morbidly obese, nor do I have a moustache (at least not after a visit to the threader) Instead I am one of the rarest of species, a creature so unique and hard to find that I have my own exhibit in Ripley's Museum, right next to Bigfoot and the guy who can touch his tongue to his shoulder. (I'd actually like to meet him in person...anyone have his number? Is he single?)
I am the woman who is afraid of commitment!
That's right, a thirty--(cough, cough) year old female who ISN'T constantly on the hunt for a husband as the sound of her tell-tale biological clock rings thunderously through her twice pierced lobes. I guess you can say that I'm the type who loves to try things on in the dressing room, spin around and see how it looks on me, and then toss it back on the rack (sometimes without even putting it back on the little plastic hanger) before I'm actually tempted to have it set up permanent residence in my closet, and thus expect me to do nice things for it, like take it to the dry cleaners.
My earliest memory of this emotional wind sprint was at five years old, when I fell truly madly deeply in love with...some kid. He was a neighbor of my cousin, about 12, with smooth brown eyes that deflected over his pimpled chin. I strode up to my pre-teen Romeo and stated my intentions quite clearly. I would kiss him and kiss him now, and he'd do best to just bend down and take it like a man. He smiled through thick braces, patted me on the head...and ran away. Encouraged by the neighborhood kids I chased him through back yards and alleys, determined to catch what I deemed the ultimate prize. It was only my mother's stern voice calling for me that stopped our chase. We froze, predator and prey both red faced and breathing hard, facing each other in a high-noon esque showdown. We stared each other down, behind me a tumbleweed brushed down the concrete suburban street. He smiled again and moved my way. "OK kid, go on kiss me." He lowered himself to my Kindergarten height, his cheek mere centimeters from my severely bitten lips. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and...ran away.
Hey, fishing wouldn't be any fun if all the fish just jumped up into your boat! Its all about the bait and hook right? Stay tuned
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment